Chapter 29 - Ferocity (CF)
Both Tubba and Gonzales had begged the old man to lead them into the village of the ParaClubbas. They knew that the proper name was Hilpromflus, but Gonzales and Tubba agreed on using ParaClubba. Tubba knew that they were a little sore over the fact that they had been rejects thousands of years ago, but ParaClubba just sounded easier on the tongue than Hilpromflus. At least, that was what they convinced themselves. The old man had been very reluctant to give in to their demands. “I have been living on this island for a quarter century,” he rumbled, each word seeming difficult to breathe out. “They don’t bother me, I don’t bother them,” he spat, but Tubba was adamant. “If you’re not going to show us, we’re going ourselves.” Tubba shot back, not feeling intimidated by this wispy, sinewy old man. He knew that they had to get back to Gusty Gulch as soon as possible, but it would be a wasted opportunity to not associate with the ParaClubbas, after having been so close. The knobbly man had pushed back, but finally, he agreed to lead them into the village the following dawn. Galmajo and Dibby were told to return to the SS Mahruav - despite Tubba’s protests that they would both be assets if the ParaClubbas were hostile, the elderly man shook his head. “If they see someone who is not their own kind, or me, who they have known for decades, they could react viciously. This is a very isolated place, after all.” The first light of dawn was breaking over the island when the old man roused Tubba and Gonzales from their sleep. It was natural for Clubbas to sleep past dawn, but the old man said he would prefer to get to the village while it was still drowsy, rather than with all of the ParaClubbas alert. He led them slowly down the tree they had climbed the night previously, rather than the breakneck speed he had climbed it going up, but Tubba found going down much easier than going up. They travelled through the humid dawn air of the rainforests, the elderly man in the lead with his crude cane softly thumping against the dirt below. He stopped abruptly at a seemingly innocuous landmark, a tree that had been burned and blackened by lightning, sticking his cane out to prevent either Clubba from traversing forward. “This is the edge of the village,” he wheezed out. “We’ve already been spotted,” he pointed his cane up at the leaves, which were rustling. “We’ll have some of them here in a moment.” Tubba couldn’t see how the old man could scope out that the ParaClubbas were around. Clubbas were used to scanning the turf around their eyeline, and very rarely looking up - their lack of a neck made it very difficult, even though the scales around their lower head were thinner to allow for movement. Rustling in the leaves made Tubba realize that he should have more faith in the elderly man who told them the Story of the Hipombrus. Three ParaClubbas, looking so identical to Tubba and Gonzales, one yellow, one red and one purple - landed heavily in front of them on the soft dirt, eyeing them with curiosity. Tubba knew that he and Gonzales were examining them with equal curiosity. The obvious difference was that just above their shell, sprouting out of the base of their shoulders, were long pairs of scaled wings, made out of what Tubba recognized as cartilage, in the ears and noses of humans, but these were not the only differences. The ParaClubbas were leaner, their shells were less pronounced, they were smaller, which would likely make them more agile, and their muscles weren’t as obvious when compared to those on Tubba and Gonzales. The lead purple one, one of the older ones, judging by the highlights of gray in his hair, waved the yellow and red ones backwards and snarled and growled at the man standing next to Tubba and Gonzales, while eyeing the two of them with curiosity. Tubba felt slightly intimidated, as if he was being judged worthy or not. It wasn’t until the scratchy voice of the old man snarled back that Tubba realized that they were communicating in the ancient, lost language of the Clubbas. It made sense - it fell out of favour among the Clubbas because the language of the Mushroom Mainland was much more convenient, but for a species that had had minimal encounters with other species, the language would not have died out. “There.” The old man said in a language Gonzales and Tubba could both understand after a brief exchange with the lead purple ParaClubba. “I’ve got you a meeting with their chief,” he remarked, looking over Gonzales and Tubba with his bulging white eyes. “They’ll get one of the few ParaClubbas that can speak our language here to translate, so you’re on your own.” “You learned to speak the ancient Clubba language?” Gonzales challenged the stickly man. “When? And how do you know they’re related to us - we look similar, sure - but so do the Firebreath Koopas and Iglators, and they’re two completely different species... what makes you so confident?” Tubba was uncomfortable with Gonzales voicing his concerns in front of the ParaClubbas, even though he knew that they couldn’t understand them. The old man merely laughed hoarsely and responded: “Are the Iglators and Firebreath Koopas really different species? They can procreate with each other. It depends on what you define as a species. As for why I’m so confident about this, well... there’s only one group of species with internal testicles. This one.” He chuckled a little, before turning away, his walking stick moving slowly across the dirt as he began to walk back toward the jungle. “It was good to communicate in my familiar language again. I suspect I shan’t be here much longer... so good luck to you, Tubba, Gonzales.” He means he’s going to die. Tubba realized, feeling a little sorry for the sickly man who had given them so much in such a short time. “Thanks, Eelee,” he said, using the man’s name for the first time, despite how weird it sounded on his tongue. Examining his retreating figure, from the wasted muscles to the bare back, scars laced across it, he wondered what Eelee had seen. There was a story there, a story that the world had been oblivious to for the past thirty-five years. An emerald green Clubba landed beside them as Eelee disappeared, her scales sparkling in the brightening light - Tubba could tell that she was around their age, judging by the lack of any blemishes of age on her. Although she spoke their language, it was in a throaty, heavy accent, as if she was using the back of her throat to gargle the words out. “Hello, wingless Hilpromflus,” she rumbled out. “What are your names?” Tubba and Gonzales quickly introduced themselves, before the green Clubba told them her name was “Juranils,” a name that sounded quite throaty and growlish, as if she was spitting out the word, like everything else the ParaClubbas told them. “I’ll take you to the chief,” Juranils informed them, before taking off to the skies. “Follow me!” She called back, with the other three ParaClubbas taking to the sky alongside them. The two Clubbas ran after their winged brethren. Tubba was a little annoyed that Juranils and her three companions didn’t care for their limitations, as if they were proving their superiority to the wingless Clubbas. Juranils always hovered within their eyeline, but never tempted the idea of settling down and running alongside them. Slowly, they approached the base of a tree in the centre of the village, ParaClubbas flitting above their head, sometimes blocking out the sun and casting them in shadow. Tubba could hear the rumbles from them: growl, snap, “Hilpromflus,” growl, snarl. They were talking about them. Juranils didn’t bother with Tubba and Gonzales attempting to scale the tree: she ordered the two of them to grab hold of a leg of each of the ParaClubbas. Although uncomfortable with the idea of being lifted into the air, Tubba stretched out a palm and wrapped his hands around the left ankle of the yellow ParaClubba, and the right ankle of the purple ParaClubba. Light wind battered his belly as he felt his feet leave the ground. He grabbed at the ankles of the ParaClubbas with his clammy hands, uncomfortable the higher they drew. The ParaClubbas may be confident in the air, but he was not, judging by his conspicuous lack of wings. When they settled him on the hard, crafted wood balcony of a hut built on top of the tree, he could not have been more glad. Gonzales landed beside him, and the thankful expression on his face gave away he was feeling the same way. Appearing to hold some sort of sway over the other three ParaClubbas, Juranils waved them away and beckoned Tubba and Gonzales inside the hut, their feet creaking ominously on the wood below. All Tubba could be conscious of was the immense drop beneath their feet, even though they were surely walking over the trunk of the tree, for they were inside the hut. The top of the tree had been sheared off, so the hut had taken a tower-esque shape with the balcony surrounding it on all four sides. Sitting on a chair, perched up on a loft above their heads, was a ParaClubba, her scales as dark as night, her amber eyes raking the new entrants to her hut. She flapped her similarly coloured wings and landed firmly next to them, shooting Juranils a questioning glare, accompanied with some snarls and growls. Tubba noticed that they weren’t the only ones in the hut - other ParaClubbas had been discussing with their chief, but now turned their attention to Tubba and Gonzales. Juranils responded in kind to her chief, and although neither ParaClubba seemed angry with each other, the growls sounded very aggressive to Tubba’s untrained internal ears. Eventually, the dark green Clubba turned to Tubba and Gonzales, and said in a typically hoarse voice: “This is our Chief, Chief Serrnus.” Again, the name sounded like a growl. “She’s demanding where you have come from, and why you are in our rainforest.” Where to start? Tubba’s mind whirled, before deciding to start at the very beginning. “Thousands of years ago, you winged ParaClubbas drove out the wingless offspring that you had, steadily removing their blood from this island.” He heard Juranils’ raspy voice conveying the message to her chief in her steady growling tones, although she hesitated on ParaClubba. Tubba felt like he talked for hours. His light blue lips were chapped and sore by the time he was done talking, having explained, first, where the wingless ParaClubbas had gone, many thousands of years ago, working his way down to Cloansar and the Clubba Empire, echoing what he had learned in the history books of the fall of the Clubba Empire, the shrinkage of the Clubba Kingdom and eventual defeat under Mycerinus in 2016. He made sure to stress that the Clubbas were under great threat by the other species of the Mainland, knowing that these ParaClubbas had likely never heard of the Mainland. He detailed the geography and how the Mainland was hundreds of times larger than the tiny island they lived on, causing some incredulous looks among the milling ParaClubbas. The current year, Ludwig’s rule in the Clubban Ward of the Koopa Kingdom, was the final item Tubba touched on, describing how he was a distant descendant of Cloansar and thus the last legitimate living member of the house of Blubbar, aside from Chubba, who he left out of the explanation. Stressing on how he intended to go back and claim the Kingdom for himself, he was surprised to see curiosity dawn in the amber eyes of Serrnus. Feeling his opening, he pressed. “You have to help us, Chief Serrnus,” Tubba said confidently, watching as Juranils rasped it to her chief. “In the name of the injustice you did to us Clubbas all those years ago, you should join us in this fight. It would be the least you could do.” Surprising even himself at his bold proclamation, he was not surprised was Serrnus reacted angrily, snarling something to Juranils. “We owe nothing to you ‘Clubbas,’ or whatever you call yourself,” Juranils repeated in a language Tubba could understand. “Our loyalties are to the Hilpromflus. We are surprised that the wingless varieties have even lived this long.” “But, the Koopas will be here, at this island soon, within the next five years.” Tubba pointed out. “A strong Clubban presence on the Mainland will protect you from their vile wrath.” Knowing that he was demonizing the Koopas beyond what was true, Tubba held out hope that Serrnus would reconsider. Her amber eyes betrayed nothing as she turned, her wings held proudly aloft, and talked to the ParaClubbas behind her. Frustration washed over Tubba as he knew he could not understand which way the debate was going, but he felt a flower of hope begin to bloom in his belly... the support of the ParaClubbas? Tubba had not even known this would be possible. “You can have all the Clubbas who speak your language,” Juranils grunted as Serrnus turned around and conveyed her message, sending elation searing through Tubba. In this place, where there were hundreds of thousands of ParaClubbas, many must be capable of speaking their language. “I have one more favour to ask,” Tubba knew that this favour would go down easier with Serrnus. “You see the club Gonzales is holding?” He pointed at Gonzales’ club, whose owner shook it for good measure. “If you have a forge, would you care to forge me a heavier one?” He knew there was no time for measurements, but he needed a club when they returned to Gusty Gulch. Juranils nodded after a quick interaction with Serrnus. “We’ll go get the other ParaClubbas who can communicate with you,” Juranils opened her emerald green wings and began to take to the sky. “Stay with Serrnus, I’ll be back with the club and the others soon.” It took under an hour for Juranils to return. Tubba was amazed at the efficiency at which the ParaClubbas worked, taking the new ParaClubban club in his hand. It felt... perfect, more perfect than either his shattered, old club that he had been given at birth had felt, or Karubba’s club that had served as the replacement. This was a club imbued with history. The happiness he felt was countered by the disappointment and feeling of being cheated when the ParaClubbas who were to come along showed up. There were five.